What's Dead is Dead
by Kyubuu
Summary: Steve Rogers is dead, and it's Tony's fault. Guilt consumed and desperate for redemption, Tony decides Loki is the key to his salvation and abducts him from Asgard's prisons. If Loki can bring Steve back, Tony will let him go. Only, Tony is lonely and after spending so much time together, he doesn't know if he can uphold his end of the bargain and let Loki go.
1. Chapter 1

Steve Rogers was dead.

Not in the 'this is what the papers need to report' way, not in the 'frozen in ice for a few decades' way.

In the honest to goodness, six feet in the ground, cold corpse, final farewell way.

And it was all Tony's fault.

Personal failure was not something he'd ever been able to accept, even in private. But this had been public-at least, if anyone put the pieces together.

It had been a routine mission, if you could call any of them that. Bad guys from space want to take over the Earth, Avengers can't let them.

They weren't supposed to be important. They were nobodies. The Chitauri had been more of a threat. This was just a fluke.

But it was Tony's fault.

He and Steve had been fighting before they'd gotten the alarm. Over something stupid, probably; all Tony could remember was being mad and bitching. Passive aggressive statements, throwing his wit around and being all high and mighty. The morning was all a blur, like time stood still any time he tried to bring it back to memory. Everything was muddled and distorted.

And Steve was dead.

Tony was supposed to have his back. Natasha and Clint had been tasked with sneaking into the spaceship's mainframe and disrupting their console. SHIELD had made sure they had enough sneaky little pieces of technology that it should have been a breeze, and even if the magnetic waves hadn't been enough, Clint had made it clear that he was fine with smashing it to pieces anyway.

If he didn't, Thor was happy to.

The spaceship was large enough that they couldn't maneuver fancy tactics; their size was their greatest weapon. Well, that and the seemingly infinite number of cannons and lasers fixed on the hull of the ship but at close range those weren't so much of a problem. Thor was making quick work of them, but it had been Tony's job to keep an eye on Steve.

Like he needed protection or something. Like he wasn't a super soldier. Like he hadn't been through as much as they had.

Tony had given him a ride up to the ship and dropped him carelessly on the deck. He hadn't been taking this seriously from the beginning-but again. A single oversized spaceship and aliens that looked like some ugly mole-moth hybrid? They barely went up to Tony's shoulder.

They were nothing.

And they were the reason dozens of people were sitting in folding chairs in the middle of a chilly November day, listening to some Priest droll on about the meaning of life.

Natasha was gorgeous, in a black dress so tight he couldn't figure out where she was hiding her guns. Uncharacteristically, he hadn't looked. Clint had cleaned up. You almost couldn't tell he had three broken ribs and brand new piece of metal to keep his knee together.

Thor was wearing a suit and looked like he was about to burst from the seams. Tony didn't know who had convinced him to wear a suit or if he had just been to enough funerals on Earth that he decided he didn't want to stick out in his battle armor. Not that Thor would ever _not stick out_. He stood a head over half the crowd.

Tony was a mess. He hadn't shaved, there were bags under his eyes, and he smelled of alcohol. Aside from a few burns, Tony was fine. He didn't deserve to be, but he was. His suit was crumpled and he'd gotten into another fight with Pepper this morning. She was here, a few rows away. She was too angry to sit with him.

He deserved it.

When they'd been fighting, he had gotten cocky. He was more distracted with nitpicking Steve, chewing him out, trying to piss him off. Whatever he'd been doing. The aliens had swarmed the deck but Steve was taking care of them, effortlessly swinging his shield around. He'd taken all of Tony's jibes and remained focused on the task.

Tony just got pissed and ignored him. Shoved him so far from his mind that he'd forgotten he was there.

The ship had fired a barrage of cannons-tracking missiles, heat sensitive, right for him. Tony had been frustrated, distracted. He'd been hit twice and it was impulsive to just get them off his trail. He'd fired one of his own to get them of his trail.

The plan had worked; the missiles followed the superheated flare he sent out. Only, he'd neglected to look behind him and instead assumed he'd shot into empty space. He hadn't accounted for the fact that the spaceship was rapidly losing altitude thanks to the damage they'd done to their systems.

He'd sent the flare right towards Steve Rogers.

He realized it a split second before it had happened; Tony jerked his head.

He locked eyes with Steve. He watched the light explode in Steve's eyes. He watched Steve try to pull up his shield to deflect it.

Fire ruptured the ship's exterior, blowing panels and bodies everywhere. Tony's thrusters were on full speed, charging right into the fire and smoke. The air propelled him backwards and he could feel the heat through his suit.

A flash of red, white and blue went over the other side.

Back then, Tony had been hopeful that he could still make this right. Steve was probably conscious, judging by the way his body twisted in the air. He'd be sore, but he'd be fine. Like always, right?

Tony was blinded by his target. They were plummeting towards the ground at an alarming speed but Tony was still convinced he had everything under control. Steve's eyes were closed-not from fear, certainly. Not because he was unconscious or anything. Probably just because the air stung his eyes.

That was as good of an excuse as any.

Tony was fifteen feet from Steve when the first piece of paneling slammed into him from behind. The flaming metal immediately crushed his armor and his rockets shut off. He lost control of his flight.

Ten feet from Steve, though.

The ground was coming up, fast, but Tony was still focused on him. He reached out his hand and thought he could almost reach him. His systems picked up for a second.

Five feet.

Three feet. He reached Steve's hand.

They crashed into the ground together.

A cold shiver ran down Tony's spine. He hadn't heard a damn thing the priest said. He was only vaguely aware of his surroundings, anyway. They were in a cemetery. The smell of fresh dirt was the most offensive thing Tony had ever smelled. He preferred the smell of burning flesh and rubber, even, and that was a smell that had been haunting him ever since he'd woken up, semi-conscious beneath a pile of rubble.

He thought Thor had pulled him out; he was the strongest of all of them. Bruce hadn't been there, he had stayed at the lab and was feeding them reports of the attack. Not like Bruce-or his big green friend-would have been capable of such deliberate strength.

Thor definitely must have pulled them out, Tony decided, thinking that's why the larger man was seated solemnly next to him.

A layer of dark grey clouds hid the sun from view, but Tony was still wearing his sunglasses. He knew he looked like shit; he didn't need people to remind him by pointing out his red eyes and dark circles. A cold wind blew. Tony could smell the rain.

He stared at a single point in the sky, just over the priest. Just over the casket. It was closed, for obvious reasons.

Even super soldiers weren't flame retardant, it seemed. Maybe nobody wanted to look at him and think of Red Skull.

Of course, they'd tried to save him.

But falling from that height? After that explosion?

They tried. They failed.

But none had failed so much as Tony.

No one had deliberately said it was his fault, but he knew they all had to know. He had barely spoken to any of them, and even if it had been because he locked himself in his lab, he knew.

It was his fault. Steve Roger's blood was on his hands.

He had taken their leader from them. Not that Tony would have ever really _admitted_ it, but that's what Steve had been. Their shining star, their golden sun. The goodness that had held them all together. All their broken pieces were made whole when he was around. All their mistakes were hidden by his bright light.

And Tony had killed him.

He was oblivious to the movement around him. He remained seated for a few moments even after the casket had been lowered, even after people had begun to leave. It was only when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder that he looked up and realized the funeral must have been over.

The rest of the Avengers was nowhere to be seen, but there was Thor, brows knit and lips pursed into a straight line. He was solemn and worn, wearing an expression that seemed unbefitting for the usually delighted Asgardian.

He needed no words to get his point across.

Tony played it off and cracked a grin. "What, you think I fell asleep or something?"

Thor did not return his grin. He would not have, even if he hadn't been able to tell a broken, forced smile on his friends face.

"The others are leaving," he informed instead. "We should be with them."

Tony's grin faltered only slightly. He couldn't imagine spending more time with people that knew this was his fault. People that would see him and think of everything he'd taken from them. "...I don't think so," he said after a moment. "I should really get home. I've got some things to work on."

Thor's grip tightened and Tony found that he couldn't push himself up.

Thor then, must have been ready to tell Tony this was all his fault. He braced himself for it. Hell, maybe Thor would even give him a good whack with that hammer of his, put him out of his misery.

There was no hammer, and as soon as he stopped trying to get up, Thor loosened his grip. Did not remove his hand, Tony noted, but loosened his grip.

"We should be with them," he repeated.

Tony could take a hint. Thor wasn't exactly Mr. Subtle.

"...Look," Tony began, wondering if there was some way he could worm his way out of this. It wasn't that he didn't want to grieve, it wasn't that he wasn't taking this seriously. It was just, Tony couldn't accept failure. He couldn't concentrate on anything. There was a bottle of scotch-or twelve-waiting for him at home.

Talking with his friends, eating, talking about Steve, that wasn't going to help. The only thing that would help was _forgetting_ or _fixing_ , and Tony didn't think any amount of research would bring back the dead or go back in time.

He licked his lips and continued, "Look, Thor, I just…"

"I know what it is like to lose a brother," Thor interrupted.

Tony froze. Steve was not actually what he would have considered a _brother_ , but they had a bond. Outside of Howard Stark, of course. Steve and Tony had fought, often. They butted heads and were, in many ways, complete opposites. But they worked well together, when they chose to. Perhaps Thor had seen their bickering and compared it to him with his brother. Perhaps he had seen them in combat enough to know that each other's strengths balanced out their weaknesses. Perhaps, the only difference was that there wasn't an _evil_ brother in the mix.

Loki wasn't dead, of course. Just imprisoned on Asgard.

Which might as well be dead for all that Tony had heard of it.

He had not, however, heard Thor talk of Loki in some time. His gaze lifted to meet Thor's, silently imploring him to continue.

Thor obliged. "The pain will not go away if you ignore it. It will leave a hole in you. But you can fill it."

"Oh?" Tony prompted, almost purely to humor the man.

Thor nodded. "Fill it with what happiness you can find. You have good friends. They will help. You cannot dwell on the dead. Know that he died a warrior, and warriors are always rewarded. In Valhalla-"

"We don't have a Valhalla," Tony shot back suddenly. There were no great halls. Maybe there, in his realm, but not _here_. Dead was dead. "We have this-this life, and that's it. The end," he shot back bitterly.

Thor was not taken aback; instead, he lifted his head. "You are angry," he noted.

Tony resisted the urge to say, ' _Well, fucking, duh,_ ' for many reasons.

"I do not believe friend Steve is gone, forever. He was a warrior befitting our Halls. He will be rewarded in death."

"Not really any way to check that theory, is there?" Tony asked bitterly. If there was an afterlife, he'd have thought someone would have found it by now. He wasn't one to trust blind faith. He couldn't console himself so easily.

Thor shrugged; his faith was not blind, but he could travel to other realms. He could venture to Hel to reclaim a lost soul if he really desired. Not here, on Earth. Of course, Asgard had many things Earth didn't have. Life after death was a nice perk. And Thor had told stories of healers that could bring back the dead.

...And Artifacts that held untold wonder.

Tony was silent for a second, mind ticking. Things Thor couldn't use, for one reason or another. Things Odin would keep banished from Earth, lest they fall into the wrong hands.

Things that could fix Steve, probably, if only Tony could _get_ to them.

Tony cleared his throat suddenly, mind working quicker than it had since he'd heard of Steve's death. Even through the haze of grief and alcohol, gears were turning. "...I'm sorry, Thor," he said abruptly. "I just can't get it out of my head. All of this. It's driving me crazy. I feel like the walls are closing in. I can't clear my head.

Everything around me is…" He lifted a hand to his temple and held his head. "...You've got the whole universe to clear your thoughts. I've got this one little place. I can't get a moment of quiet. I'm lashing out at people and I don't want to hurt them. I need to get out of here."

Thor's expression softened and Tony found himself encouraged. "Do you really think there's a place out there, where warriors go? Even from Earth?"

Thor nodded. "I do."

And Thor fell for it. He fell for Tony's hitched breathing, his desperate words, and he offered, "Perhaps it would ease you to see with your own eyes?"

Tony pretended to consider it and nodded slowly. "I don't know. Perhaps."

He was better at hiding his emotions than Thor was, and found himself grateful that Thor was oblivious to the mad desperation broiling in his stomach, consuming his mind.

Thor nodded. "Let us partake in the feast to honor our friend. You will return to Asgard with me."

He clasped Tony's shoulder once more, reassuring, before pulling him to his feet.

Tony had no appetite, but he allowed it, and even offered a slightly more convincing smile for his friend. The sunglasses still hid the emptiness in his eyes.

Tony had hated himself long before this, but Steve Roger's death was too much for him.

He didn't want to use Thor, but they'd understand, in the end. He'd make this right.

No matter what it took.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the number he'd attended, Tony had grown no more comfortable with funerals nor receptions. In an ordinary situation, he went home buzzed and slept it off.

Tonight, he'd arrived less than sober, and he left with enough alcohol in his system to take out an ordinary man.

But Tony wasn't ordinary.

Pepper had watched him from a distance and while she didn't approach him, he was certain she was the reason the alcohol had been moved to the back. But he was _Tony_ _Stark_. He didn't need free alcohol to get wasted.

Not when he had the good stuff at home.

He couldn't remember much of his evening beyond his talk with Thor. He probably made a fool of himself and earned further disdain from his teammates. It didn't matter. Let them hate him as much as he hated himself. Let them see the monster hiding behind the cracking shell of a man.

He deserved it.

He deserved the hangover he felt in the morning, and the throbbing in his skull when a heavy knock rapped on his door. He didn't need JARVIS to tell him it was Thor.

Though less grim-faced than before, Thor had looked tired and only wore the faintest smile.

Tony knew it was because Thor must have hated him. Or he'd really screwed up last night. Probably both. It didn't matter. Thor had come to talk of Asgard. Tony was a mess and could barely focus on what he was being told so he wound up nodding absentmindedly. Thor was talking about hunting some monster, visiting some god, drinking some _drink_ -that was the only part he could stir his brain for.

The best part of all of it was that Thor was happy talking to himself. Tony could just sit there and pretend to drink coffee and nibble on toast.

Morning turn to noon and Tony remained half-heartedly listening to Thor talk. He wasn't sure if the Asgardian had always been so chatty or if this was a special occasion but it made him wonder all the same: how much was Thor keeping to himself?

He'd lost his brother, yes-but was it really losing much? They had grown up together but from what Tony could piece together, Loki had always been the black sheep. Dabbling in magic and sorcery, nose buried in books while Thor was out adventuring with his other friends. Thor had spent time with Steve; they were the odd ones out.

They came from different worlds and perhaps had found solace together. Steve was trying to fit in and Thor barely wanted to.

Was Thor looking for another replacement, now that he'd lost Steve? And before Steve, who had there been? Probably Loki, all things considered. Thor _would_ have been the type to put all his secrets in the hands of some untrustworthy sneak.

The bad news about sobering up was that Tony was more aware of what was going on and could be reminded of his guilt. The good news was, he could work on a plan. He'd already tried and failed a few things-a cybernetic robot to download Steve's consciousness in? It would be a synthetic personality but Tony liked to think he could do a pretty good impersonation. But it wasn't the real thing. Going back in time? Sure, how much could he screw up?

Bringing him back from the dead?

There was magic for that. Basically no catch, right? Or, at least, he was smart enough to weasel his way out of a catch. Probably.

Only, Tony knew _science_ , not magic. In fact, the only reason he was considering _magic_ was because his science had let him down.

Anthony Stark was a genius, but an escape from death had eluded all men. So far.

Asgard had the benefit of age; he would seek their secrets, if only to further his own agenda.

Thor was laughing about something and clapped him on his shoulder, drawing him from his thoughts once more. Tony smiled, grateful for Thor's obliviousness.

He didn't give the Asgardian enough credit, though; Thor was more aware of the emptiness in Tony's eyes than he let on. He was not here for himself, not entirely. He was here for his friend.

In their own way, the Avengers had been a family. Steve was a brother to all of them. Adopted, of course.

Naturally, Thor could sympathize.

Humans were weaker than Asgardians, and their society dictated they should grieve in ways he was not entirely accustomed to. Tony was not celebrating Steve's life, he was obsessing over his death. Thor's friends were strong and mighty, and Tony was, too.

Just not right now.

Tony was slipping into a shell of himself that was quickly growing unrecognizable. It was not the first time he'd resorted to drink as an escape, but that wasn't what worried Thor.

What worried Thor was the way he would slip into quiet contemplation, staring at some spot on the wall or something. Thor knew he wasn't listening.

Thor had known Loki long enough to know when he was being ignored. But, he let Tony pretend, because it made Tony feel better, and that was enough to make Thor feel better.

They spent the day together, ultimately doing nothing. They both appreciated the distraction. Sans the two of them, there were no visitors to the tower.

Everyone was grieving, in their own way.

Tomorrow, Tony would go to Asgard, because Thor thought he was helping his friend escape the weight of a world that was crumbling down around him.

Tony's stock had crashed-not permanently, certainly, but it was always a blow to his ego when the numbers dipped. It was likely not something that would even affect him in the long run. But he was fighting with Pepper and drinking and two steps away from slipping into more self destructive habits.

Tony was a mess, and Thor hadn't been able to save Steve.

So he would save Tony, instead.

Tony didn't know what to expect when traveling to Asgard; Thor always made it look so easy. The reality of it was that it felt like your skin was being sucked from your body; muscles and blood and bone followed, but all at different speeds. You wound up torn apart and shoved back together by the end of it.

He was glad he hadn't eaten anything before traveling; Thor had warned him it could be a bit overwhelming. Thankfully, his lack of food was soon to be remedied.

On Earth, Tony would have considered it an immense welcome home feast.

Here, it was apparently just dinner.

He was welcomed to dine in the hall with the Asgardians, so he did. His belongings-mostly journals, technology, tools and a few clothes-were stored in a room near to Thor's. He didn't have time or permission (though no one had said so) to explore on his own, so just stayed close to Thor.

It wasn't just Odin's cold stare that made him want to stay within range of his friend; many of the Asgardians watched him with as much interest as they did disdain. At least, until Thor introduced him. What Asgardians regarded him with hostility seemed at peace after Thor's introduction. Apparently, the Man of Iron was held in high esteem. Or, they liked Thor enough to overlook any hard feelings towards him.

Thor had gone out of his way to string stories of his bravery.

He left out the one about he valiantly blew his teammate to smithereens, but, hey. Maybe he was saving that one for another day.

Tony's snark had been snuffed out; he was by no means _just_ a shell of himself, but he wasn't the man they'd heard stories about. Perhaps, some noticed. Odin might have, with his strangely piercing eye. Frigga, who sat next to him and was the exact opposite of her brutish looking husband, regarded him with a kind smile.

They did not speak beyond basic introductions; Thor all but abducted Tony and dragged him around like a toy to meet his friends. He boasted and praised and told stories while they ate and drank late into the night.

Tony drank, but not enough to make a fool of himself-for once, this month, it seemed. Asgardian alcohol felt different than even the good stuff back on Earth. It made Thor loud but it made Tony quiet.

Quiet was bad for Tony, so he drank more, thinking he must have been doing it wrong.

It was dark when the hall had emptied. Thor's friends-Sif and the Warriors Three, of whom Tony had been introduced to no less than five times this evening, despite sitting at their table all night-seemed reluctant to leave the table first. Tony suspected it was a pride thing so, naturally, he resigned not to be the first to leave, either.

Thor, with his wide grin and loud laugh, could drink his problems away. Being with friends gave him some spirit back. He had told tales of the legendary 'Captain America' tonight, regaling in his friend's great adventures.

Tony had tuned them out because there was a chance that Steven wouldn't _have_ any more great adventures.

No. No, he told himself, because he had to.

He wasn't going to quit.

No matter what it took-he was here. If it meant breaking into Odin's vault, hell-maybe he would. He wasn't drunk enough to think that was a good idea yet.

Thor stood from the table and rested his hand on his shoulder for just long enough to heave him up as well.

They parted on good terms and said good night to the Sif and the three men. Thor was strangely quiet when they made their way back to their rooms.

Before, Tony had thought all doors looked the same. It was only when they came back that one door seemed to stick out. The wood seemed darker than the others, and the doorknob was entirely different. It seemed to have a sturdier lock on it. Unlike the others, this one was obvious even from a distance.

It wasn't interesting enough to make Tony ask about it, but he stopped to examine it silently.

Thor noticed and paused.

His brows narrowed and he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Loki was always different."

"Hm?" Tony asked, shaking his head to glance at the taller man.

Thor nodded to the door. "Loki's room. No doubt you felt the spell of his dark enchantments."

Tony raised a brow. "No, the lock was different."

"Mm. Yes, that too. He was always one of secrets. Father wanted his room cleared out, but Mother has forbidden it. I do not know why." Thor turned away. "He isn't coming back."

With this, Tony found his curiosity spiking once more. "No, he's in the dungeons, isn't he? For how long?"

"Forever, I suppose. Father may change his mind in years to come. But he is dead to this household."

There was a forced bitterness in his voice. Thor did not truly believe the words he was saying, he only wanted to. The betrayal ran deep, but he loved Loki.

Maybe there was hope for himself, if Thor could be so forgiving even now. Perhaps Thor would forgive him for his ulterior motivations. Tony inclined his head at the door once more. "What dark spell has he cast on his room? Does he really have anything so valuable in there?"

Thor shook his head. "It is unlikely. Only his books, I think. But the door is locked to all weapons and spells. Perhaps we could get in, if we wanted. But it would bring up only bad memories. He is not the same young man who once lived across the hall from me."

Tony nodded, but the plan was already in motion.

He was but one door down from Thor's room, and that meant there was a challenge resting just on his doorstep.

Picking locks was no problem; he'd been doing it since he was a child. It was the easiest sort of trouble to get into, offering Tony a locked door. Sometimes, he didn't even care what secret was hidden inside. Sometimes, he liked just proving that he could do it.

It would have been too easy to assume that Loki would have had some life restoring potion just hidden away in his room, but Tony was aiming for the bigger picture.

Thor knew little of magic, and had admitted as much on more than one occasion. He was painfully oblivious to the treasures hidden away; in the company of his friends he had not shied away from the topic, but he seemed to have little to share. Tony had poked and prodded where he could, but Thor had admitted that his studies focused on heroes of old and training. He had not said Loki's name, but Tony knew.

Loki had been the one to learn about magic, and artifacts, and all the dark secrets behind them.

Like Tony, Loki had sought knowledge.

But he drew the line at what they might have had in common there. Or, he tried to. Thor had escorted him to his room and once alone with his own thoughts, Tony wondered if Steve had felt betrayal in his last few seconds of life. If he had felt the splitting horror that Thor had felt when his own brother turned against him.

Tony did not sleep well that night.

He stared at the ceiling until his eyes burned. He saw Steve's eyes, heard his scream, felt his fingers brush against his.

And then he saw fire, and heard crunching, and smelled smoke and flames.

Another nightmare, but he deserved it.

He deserved this pain. He deserved to feel the flames licking his skin.

There was ice, though. A strange, burning ice. It didn't hurt, but it ate away at his dream. It numbed him-to everything. Everything moved in slow motion. His thoughts were too sluggish to drag him deeper into the mental hell he'd prepared for himself. The screams were muted, the pain numbed.

He dreamed of Steve's eyes, only some time in the night the eyes had turned green.

They were not Steve's eyes, but they called to him all the same.


	3. Chapter 3

All in all, it was a bad plan. He had come here scheming what, to break into _Odin's_ vault of treasures? The idea of breaking into Loki's room seemed like good practice, though. There was a sick feeling in his stomach, not at the idea of being caught but at the idea of what he might find.

Loki was the start of most of his problems. Sure, there was getting kidnapped, Obadiah, _those_ problems, but Loki was when the drinking really started. That was when the seams started coming undone.

You couldn't really just turn off the problems he'd had after that.

It was worse than nightmares. This was a paralyzing, crippling fear. Being in deep space for even just that moment had been enough to leave him combating something greater than he'd ever known. He'd have died a hero, if he'd just _died_.

A part of him relished the thought, but Tony, for all his self-harm, didn't want to die. Hero, or otherwise. At his core, he wanted to live.

Even now, with Steve's blood on his hands, he wanted to live.

But he couldn't live with himself like this. He'd drive himself mad or work himself to death; he simply couldn't come to terms with what he did.

When he tried, he felt his heart pound in his chest. He felt the cold sweat blossom over his skin and he felt both like he was being crushed into a tiny box and stretched apart across the universe.

Tony wasn't supposed to have panic attacks and refused to acknowledge he had become subject to them.

The drinking helped take the edge off, at first. It helped his muscles relax, filled him with a welcome warmth. It brought him peace and eventually, after enough drinks, made his mind stop twisting and choking itself.

Of course, then came the anger, the extreme irresponsibility, making himself sick with alcohol poisoning. But-hey. For a little while before then, he felt okay.

If Loki hadn't brought the Chitauri to Earth though, Tony wouldn't have developed such wonderful coping mechanisms.

So, of course, he hated the man.

A pasty, narcissistic pretty-boy hell-bent on claiming Earth as his own? People had _died_ -for what, his pride? If Thor couldn't forgive him, Tony sure as hell couldn't. He was still paying for repairs.

It would serve Loki right if Tony found his diary. He'd make him the laughing stock of Asgard if he had the chance. Not that Loki would know, trapped in his little prison. It was better than he deserved. If Tony'd had his way, Loki would be strapped to a table in his lab. Or SHIELD would have him. Or they'd have just made it easy and put him to death.

...But there was no point in wasting a useful asset. It just sounded like they were wasting him anyway, letting him rot down in a prison cell. Certainly his magic would have been more useful in rebuilding what he'd destroyed. Or, maybe…

Rebuilding what Tony had destroyed.

The downside of Asgardian liquor was that Tony had very little tolerance to it. He'd woken up vomiting and starving, but feeling _alive_ -and strangely, not hungover.

He'd cleaned himself up, paced, gotten dressed, and schemed.

And hated a good bit.

But Tony was good at hating, and hating Loki was a good distraction. It took less than half an hour for Tony to sneak out of his room and across the hall to Loki's door. There were voices around the corner so he knew there wasn't really time to try and pick the lock or gather much information about it. He settled for taking a few pictures with his phone and getting a digital scan of the lock.

Thor seemed to be on his schedule; it was a stroke of luck that Tony's phone finished scanning the lock only a few seconds before Thor opened his door.

Tony had been on edge, anticipating that someone would spot him in his mischief, so when the handle to Thor's door suddenly unlatched, Tony had scampered over and somehow managed to look like he was just about to knock on the door.

Thor, surprised, grinned, and greeted him with enthusiasm. As expected, Thor suffered no effects from his late night drinking.

While Tony wanted nothing more than to slip back into his room and analyze his new data, he had to play off the lie he'd constructed. Thor escorted him to breakfast, though they were late enough that they had little more than scraps left.

Asgardian scraps, of course, felt like a five course dinner to Tony, so he had nothing to complain about there.

Tony was impatient, but he understood the necessity of appearances. He let Thor drag him around for a few hours and show him around-and to be fair, he was grateful to know the layout a bit. His favorites were the library, the healers, things he might be able to eke some information out of. Thor was careless in his tour, he'd even shown him where the prison was-though he made no effort to enter them.

They seemed a passive thought to Thor, who mentioned the gateway to their prisoners as though it were no more than a well-stocked pantry. He had no reason to think that Tony was interested, and Tony was happy to let him hold that misconception.

His fingers glided over the phone in his pocket as they walked, wondering if his program was done running. He was excited to have a puzzle he could solve; collecting the pieces was frustrating, but this was one step at a time.

Naturally, Tony understood that he needed to take small steps, but all he wanted to do was break out in a run. It felt like he was screwing around, like he was letting Steve and everyone down all over again. His mind was roaming over possibilities in his head, desperately aching for the satisfaction of progress.

Thor had noticed, of course, that Tony wasn't all there. He could see the dark haired man slowly being consumed by his own thoughts. The way he seemed to be physically present but mentally distanced.

Because Thor had been there before, too. He thought time and space would heal all wounds, but they didn't.

Sometimes they just meant the wounds deepened and festered, and suddenly the man you'd grown up knowing as a brother was hellbent on destroying you and everything you loved.

But Loki had always had a darkness in him, even if Thor had been too blind to see.

He could see it now, blistering in Tony. There was a sickness there, eating away at him. Tearing him apart.

Tony wasn't managing. He was pretending to manage, but he wasn't. The problem with Tony was that he thought he was so much smarter than everyone else-and certainly, in some regards, he was. Another trait Thor had seen in Loki.

And yet, for all their wits, they both seemed to forget that those around them could _see_ when they were falling apart.

Bringing Tony to Asgard had not been easy, and Thor would not let Tony know how hard he had argued with the Allfather to grant him a stay here. He had screamed until his face was red and moisture bubbled in his eyes, until his throat was hoarse and he deafened his own ears.

Odin was a wiser man, and perhaps he too saw the darkness growing in a desperate man. Frigga had softened his heart though, and Odin had permitted the conditional stay.

Even if Tony had known the extent of Thor's dedication, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself, though.

To him, Thor was his usual overbearing self. He was too blind to his own thoughts to realize what Thor was trying to do for him. No, Tony had always been on a different level than Thor and even now he couldn't be bothered to think about what was going on in _his_ head.

They were both thinking about the same thing, though: Loki.

Tony's watch told him it was only eight thirty in New York, but it felt like it must have been several hours later. He had used nearly every excuse he could think of before Thor finally let him escape to his room.

The scan had finished running hours ago and Tony found himself both relieved and agitated; if he'd been able to sneak away hours ago, maybe he wouldn't have had to keep playing this game. The fake smile, the fake laugh. His face hurt from just _pretending_ to feel anything.

The lock was just a lock, nothing fancy. He could have picked it in a minute or two. It was the enchantment that was keeping everyone from meddling-and probably fear of Odin, and Thor still trying to protect Loki in whatever way he could. While he could tell that there was some sort of magic, he couldn't quite identify what. He might not have been familiar with what the Asgardian runes meant but he could see them engraved in the heavy metal.

Loki probably thought he was so smart, with his magic and whatnot.

Of course, Tony was smarter. Science trumped magic, every time. And Loki had been sloppy with his magic.

Naturally, Tony had researched it as much as possible after the attack on Earth. It was more than just fascination with some foreign power; Tony had to be the best. Partly for his ego, and partly to make sure he didn't let the people of Earth down. Where there was one attack, there could be more.

Maybe not from Loki, but from someone.

Combined with records he'd stolen from SHIELD, Tony already knew how to disrupt the magic, at least temporarily. When he'd packed his bags, he'd considered that first. He might not have brought a full suit of armor, but he knew that he could make just about anything he needed to.

In this case, he didn't have to make anything; he'd come prepared.

While on Earth they'd discovered a secluded cove in California, brimming with strange crystal growth. Naturally, Tony had procured a number of them before SHIELD moved in and closed the area off. He had their files on the cove bookmarked, though in skimming he'd only learned that they were trying to research a lost ship. _Space_ ship, no less.

But life had gotten in the way and Tony had pushed it to the back of his mind.

The crystals, though. The crystals resonated energy at a frequency unlike anything he'd ever seen. He had been _delighted_ to discover-by pure accident, of course-the way the crystals almost immediately negated all 'magic' in the area. It had totally warped two phones and a week's worth of progress on one of his suit improvements but you didn't make an omelet without cracking a few eggs.

He'd transported a small batch of crystals with him; they were ugly little things, silvery and always covered in condensation. He hadn't even graced them with a name yet, just 'Subject 07XR'. He couldn't even remember what it stood for, now.

But it didn't matter.

He held his phone off to the side in one hand, examining the lock once more. The scan of the room had been unsuccessful but he was far less concerned with that. Tony was good with snooping.

With his other hand, he dug through his bag and pulled out the lead lined box. He managed to open it with one hand and withdraw two crystals before placing the case on a nearby shelf. He pocketed his phone, careful to keep it far away from the crystals. Of course, he'd improved the design since the last mishap, but he didn't want to take any chances.

His watch was equipped with all the tools he'd need to pick a lock, so he didn't really even have to do any work. He just had to make it look like he was staying in his room, tucked in bed and sleeping while the Asgardians had their usual dinner feast.

Tony slipped out of his room and across the hall; there were guards around two corners, but this hallway seemed mostly unoccupied. Probably for the best, if it was mean to house the royal families. It would have been negligent to let strangers wander freely.

Ah, if only Thor knew.

But Tony felt no guilt when he stood before Loki's door. Only anxiety.

He held his breath and lined his watch up with the hole in the lock before pressing a button. Two small picks twisted out and jammed themselves into the keyhole just as he pressed the crystals to either side of the lock.

The thing about experimenting with crystals was that they were still unstable. So, when Tony found himself suddenly thrust backwards three feet from the contact, he shouldn't have been surprised.

As he sat on the ground, stunned, and with a throbbing tailbone, he still gasped in surprise.

Not because of the impact-but because the lock was dangling from the door, apparently blown out of the wood. Which meant he either needed to get into the room quickly or fix it quickly, before anyone noticed.

Neither of which was going to be accomplished while he was sitting in the middle of Asgard's halls.

Tony scrambled to his feet and pushed the door open; it would have been wise for him to expect more traps- _he'd_ have had more traps-but he didn't even check. He pulled the door closed behind him and slipped in.

Loki's room was dark-too dark to see, so he fumbled with his watch while the picks disappeared. Before the flashlight turned on, Tony had to rely on his other senses.

First, this room was cold. Unnaturally cold. He had goosebumps and felt a chill in his blood that countered even that of the warm adrenaline racing through him.

The second then, the smell. It smelled of dust and old books, though when the flashlight came on he could see that the room was spotless. It smelled of incense, or candles, or herbs or something-like nature, but stale.

The bed was perfectly made. It was simple, in its own way; his own bed in the guest chambers was more elaborate. His bed was larger, golden and hewn with strong details.

Loki's bed was carved, in wood, and upon closer inspection Tony realized that the wood _did_ feature extremely detailed embellishments. But they were simply more subtle. Strange, given how much Loki seemed to strive for attention. The giant horns on his head seemed like a dead giveaway that he'd want to have everything large and in your face.

The room didn't seem very personalized; there was a desk and what looked like writing supplies. Green curtains, green bed sheets, _green_ , everywhere.

Ultimately, the room wasn't very telling. It looked almost like a guest room, itself. The window had an extra lock on it, but from this height it seemed like a little overkill.

He had to make quick work of what he could; Tony started with the desk.

Parchment. Ink. Words he couldn't decipher. Hidden compartments in the desk were the first thing he looked for, but Loki wasn't stupid enough to hide anything of value. A few more scraps of paper, though these were different from the crisp, unsoiled sheets he had carefully filed away.

These were crumpled, dirty, and faded. The ink was smudged in droplet shapes, marred by rain or-judging by the few stray drops, tears. Or spit, but one was far likelier than the other. Loki just didn't seem the sort to keep drool-smeared documents with Thor's name signed at the bottom.

Or, at least, he assumed that was Thor's name; he'd seen it appear on documents back on Earth whenever they had _official_ business.

Odd, that these papers were important enough to keep. He pocketed them, figuring no one would miss them. The hidden compartment, unlike the rest of the room, had not been cared to. It was stiff from lack of use.

It was another puzzle Tony could decipher back in the safety of his room.

But he wasn't here for fun, despite how interesting picking apart his worst nightmare sounded. He could chalk this up as work, though. Blackmail might benefit him, down the road.

But he felt no closer to bringing Steve back.

He moved to the bookshelf, riffling through the texts. The books were all leatherbound and many seemed either handwritten or embellished in gold. It was clear which had been acquired and which had been gifts.

He opened the largest one and took a few pictures with his phone, mindful to deposit the crystals in another pocket long before he risked damaging his technology. There were some pictures-plants, so probably not very interesting. He only cared to identify what language this was in and see if he could program something to decipher it.

Tony photographed the words on the spines of the books and a few pages from other books, careful to return them to their spot on the shelves.

He went to the closet, rifled through clothes, dug around.

More green, _surprisingly_. But nothing else, really.

No weapons, no tools, no magic, no answers.

Just the satisfaction of breaking into his enemy's private quarters.

There was a part of Tony that thought he should defile it in some way, but even the childish impulse to destroy something of Loki's was easily brushed aside.

The thought was there, but he didn't have the energy or motivation.

Tony wasn't himself. If he were himself, he would have taken care of his appearance, flirted with the Asgardian women (and taken a few back to his room, probably). He'd have been able to enjoy the food, enjoy their technologies.

Tony was a wraith, in many ways. As each day passed, another part of him died.

He wasn't unsalvageable, but he wasn't in any condition to be fixed. He didn't want to be fixed.

He didn't _deserve_ it.

Ten more minutes of rifling through Loki's belongings delivered little answers about the man who had tried to enslave him and Earth, and either this room had been raided or Loki had done a damned good job of hiding everything revealing about himself.

Or, maybe, he was just the most boring person alive.

But a man with eyes like that couldn't be that boring, and it wasn't just anyone who could try to _take over the world_.

There was more to him, and Tony knew it.

And he was going to find a way to use him.

Ultimately disappointed, Tony had accepted the reality that he wouldn't find much in Loki's room. It was just a sick pleasure that had passed the time while he tiptoed towards his end goal. He pressed his ear to the thick door and listened, waiting for any sign that he wasn't alone.

Fifteen seconds of silence and he figured he was safe; he opened the door and slipped into the empty hall. Fixing the lock that he'd broken was easier said than done and he didn't want to risk being caught with the stolen papers on him. Thankfully, the illusion of being fixed worked just as well; he shoved the lock back into its hole in the door and while a close inspection would have revealed its condition, he doubted anyone would notice it while it mattered.

Tony didn't plan on being here for more than another few nights, if he could help it.

Let Asgard feast and drink.

Tony had work to do.


End file.
